


How We're Meant to Be

by LeapAngstily



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Danger of cavities, Hurt/Comfort, Implied infidelity/open marriage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 09:58:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4055782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeapAngstily/pseuds/LeapAngstily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season is over (thankfully), Giampaolo is leaving (probably), and Riccardo is feeling left out (definitely).</p>
            </blockquote>





	How We're Meant to Be

**Author's Note:**

> Set after Milan’s final game for the season against Atalanta. I, for one, am relieved the season is over, but at the same time I’m dreading the transfer window because things never seem to go as we’re hoping for when it comes to Milan. Oh, and Pazzo is most likely leaving, so there’s that too.

It is well past midnight when Giampaolo finds himself standing behind Riccardo’s door. He has the spare key Riccardo gave him back when he moved to Milan –  _in the case of emergency_  – and he has used it countless times before, but tonight it does not feel right, so he rings the doorbell instead.  
  
There is no sound from the apartment after the first try, so he presses the button again and waits. He is beginning to suspect Riccardo is not home when he finally hears heavy footsteps from the hallway behind the door.  
  
“Do you have any idea what time it is?” Riccardo greets him with a tired grumble as he opens the door, leaning his hip against the doorframe, blocking Giampaolo from coming in as if in a silent protest. He is wearing only loose sweatpants – Giampaolo belatedly recognizes them as his own –his hair is sticking up on one side and he is squinting a little, trying to block out the bright lights in the hallway.  
  
“Sorry, took me longer than expected to get out of the stadium,” Giampaolo apologizes with a half-shrug, not bothering to check his watch – he knows it is late, there is no point in verifying it. “Can I come in? You don’t want your neighbours to see you like that, do you?”  
  
Riccardo huffs out a soft chuckle and moves out of the way, turning on his bare heels and making his way back to his bedroom without another word. Giampaolo is stuck staring at his back, pale skin practically shining in the low lighting, deep shadows highlighting the bumps of his spine and the lines of his ribs that did not use to stick out quite so clearly.  
  
“Are you eating properly?” Giampaolo raises his voice just a little to be heard as he kicks his shoes off carelessly and follows Riccardo into the bedroom. He takes a note that Riccardo is still limping – it is barely noticeable now, but it is  _there_  – just before the captain slips back between the covers and curls up on the left side of the wide bed.  _Giampaolo’s side._  “You need your strength if you want to get fit for the preseason.”  
  
“Shut up and come to bed,” Riccardo retorts, his voice nothing but a soft grumble against the pillow. Giampaolo follows the order without a complaint: he undresses until he is only in his boxers and then he lies down on the right side – Riccardo’s side.  
  
This is how it has been since Riccardo’s last surgery: Riccardo keeping mostly to himself, not quite pushing Giampaolo out, but clearly not letting him straight in either. There are times when things seem normal – like the gentle, loving teasing only a week ago when Giampaolo got the armband and the 100th goal – but then there are nights like this when Riccardo barely speaks, barely acknowledges Giampaolo’s presence.  
  
Sometimes Giampaolo worries. Worries that Riccardo is changing, that  _they_  are changing, that one day they will realize that the bond holding them together is not enough anymore.  
  
Riccardo fits into his arms perfectly – just like he always has – when Giampaolo scoots over and presses up against his back, seeking reassurance as much as offering it. This part is always the same, even at times when Riccardo is otherwise so quiet and subdued: safe, warm, familiar closeness that cannot be taken away by injuries, losses, or transfers.  
  
This is where they truly belong.  
  
“It’s been a year,” Riccardo says suddenly. He sounds wide awake, despite his earlier sleepiness. “A whole year since I got injured and I’m still useless. I’m still in pain.”  
  
“Just give it time,” Giampaolo tells him gently, his hold around Riccardo’s waist tightening instinctively. “The season’s over. You have the whole summer to rest and gain fitness. It’ll be fine.”  
  
“You’ve been saying that for months.” It is a statement, not an argument. Riccardo lays his hand over Giampaolo’s on his hip and intertwines their fingers carefully. “Who’s going to comfort me when you leave?”  
  
“Who said anything about leaving?” The words do not sound convincing even to Giampaolo’s own ears. Riccardo actually  _laughs_  at him, that familiar bubbly laugh that is completely genuine.  
  
“Liar. Do you know where you’re going?”  
  
“The season just ended, stupid. It’s too early for that.” This time the words are honest, and Giampaolo hides the relieved smile tugging at his lips by pressing a kiss to the back of Riccardo’s neck, just below the hairline. “I promise you’ll be the first to know once I make the decision.”  
  
Giampaolo leaving Milan is not the end for them. They had had their doubts back when Giampaolo first left Atalanta, and then again when he transferred from Fiorentina. It had not broken them up, so this time they know not to worry. But it still feels bitter, deep down, to leave Riccardo behind again – of course it does, it is only natural.  
  
“Just— Don’t go too far,” Riccardo says softly, twisting in Giampaolo’s arms until he can see his face. Riccardo’s light blue eyes look unfamiliarly dark in the dim lighting. “I’m too used to having you in my bed. I can’t sleep when it doesn’t smell like you.”  
  
Giampaolo’s snort is decidedly unsexy, and he pinches Riccardo’s side sharply before answering, “You have any idea how sappy that sounded? And here I thought you were mad at me!”  
  
Riccardo lets out a surprised yelp and responds by swatting Giampaolo’s hand away from his waist and elbowing him until he is flat on his back, before climbing on top of him, hitting his chest playfully over and over until Giampaolo manages to catch a hold of his wrists.  
  
“I missed you,” Riccardo admits with a smile that is happy and wistful at the same time. He leans his chin on their hands that are still resting on Giampaolo’s chest, his eyes reflecting the city lights that have sneaked into the room between the curtains. Giampaolo thinks there might be tears clinging to his eyelashes, but it might just as well be a trick of light.  
  
“Last week, when you were so happy after you scored in front of Tommaso and Silvia… I was almost jealous. I hate feeling like that – I know I have no reason to be jealous – but I couldn’t help myself. You were there and I was here and then you went home with your family. And I missed you so much it  _hurt_. And then my leg hurt too and everything hurt and I  _really_  needed you.”  
  
Riccardo bites his lips tightly together as he finishes, his eyes opened wide, like only now realizing he might have said too much. Giampaolo releases his hold on Riccardo’s wrist to caress his face reassuringly instead, running his thumb over the chapped lips until the expression relaxes again.  
  
“You should’ve called me,” Giampaolo finally whispers, his tone only half-berating.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Riccardo replies, except it is so quiet that Giampaolo is not sure whether he actually heard it or if he was just reading Riccardo’s lips.  
  
“I’m sorry too,” Giampaolo echoes. He cups the back of Riccardo’s head and urges him to move forward until they can press their lips together. The kiss is unhurried, just chaste nibbles, their breaths mixing together when Riccardo pulls back just enough to let out a soft laugh, and then he dives back in, warm tongue caressing Giampaolo’s lower lip before retreating, leaving just lips on lips again.  
  
The next time they break the kiss, Giampaolo cannot stop the wide yawn that pushes its way out of his chest, which in turn throws Riccardo into a fit of silent laughter, his face hidden in the crook of Giampaolo’s neck, shoulders shaking and lips pressed against his pulse point.  
  
“Stop laughing; I played ninety minutes tonight and then drove all the way back from Bergamo just to see you!” Giampaolo does his best to sound insulted, but the laughter bubbling in his own chest makes the task difficult. “Just go to sleep, idiot. You need your rest, too.”  
  
Riccardo mumbles something against Giampaolo’s skin, but there is no way for Giampaolo to catch the words this time.  
  
“I said: this is my side. You’re on my side,” Riccardo repeats slowly, lifting his head this time, smiling mirthfully at Giampaolo. He is running his fingers over Giampaolo’s chest gently, drawing irregular shapes on his skin.  
  
“And whose fault is that?” Giampaolo asks with a roll of his eyes before brushing another kiss against Riccardo’s lips and wrapping his arms around his waist. Riccardo takes the cue and relaxes into Giampaolo’s embrace, settling more comfortably on top of him.  
  
“But I’m kicking you off if you start snoring,” Giampaolo warns him, only half-serious. The only response he gets is a  _very-obviously-fake_  snore followed by a brush of lips against his collarbone that might have been accidental.

**Author's Note:**

> \- It’s been months since I last wrote anything, and it definitely shows. Writer’s block is a bitch (and hopefully gone with this thing).  
> \- Monto injured himself on May 31, 2014, and was sidelined with broken leg until the end of November. During the second half of the season he suffered a number of muscle injuries and probably had some problems with the leg as well, playing only a handful of games before it was announced around a month ago that he needed another surgery and his season was over. He’s expected to be back for the preseason.  
> \- Pazzo scored his 100th Serie A goal last week against Torino while wearing the captain’s armband (given to him by vice-captain Abbiati). His wife and son were at the stadium to see this and Pazzo was super cute, blowing kisses and waving at them after he scored and then again once the match ended.  
> \- And yeah, Pazzo is probably leaving Milan since his contract is ending and he hasn’t renewed yet.  
> \- Feedback would be lovely!


End file.
